* * *
• • •
They passed the first ship shortly after Scrimshine steered the Superior through the islands and into the Red Tides. An aged one-stack clipper steamed by a mile off the starboard bow, sails raised to augment her paddles. She sat low in the water, a crowd of close-packed people thronging her deck fore and aft. The crow’s nest related a signal that had been rapidly hauled to the top of her mainmast: Turn back. No safe harbour ahead.
Hilemore ordered the signaller to reply via the lamp, advising the clipper to make for the east Corvantine coast, but the Superior was moving too fast to catch any reply. They saw four more ships before nightfall, all heavily laden with refugees and steaming towards different points of the compass. One, a broad-beamed freighter, altered course to approach the Superior, her signal pennants displaying a request for medical assistance. Hilemore had the battle flag raised to warn them off, maintaining their speed and heading until the freighter was far to their rear.
When night fell he had the blood-burner taken off-line briefly to allow the Endeavour to draw alongside then ordered the ship to battle stations. Steelfine mustered the riflemen and had cannister stacked alongside the gun-crews. Braddon Torcreek and Preacher climbed the mast to the crow’s nest, rifles strapped across their backs. Kriz took up station with Clay and Lutharon on the fore-deck whilst Sigoral and the few remaining Corvantines from the original crew stationed themselves aft. Hilemore had Colonel Kulvetch position her Marines on the upper works, each squad supplied with full water buckets and sandbags to combat the inevitable fires.
“Got room for two more?” Loriabeth asked, appearing in the bridge hatchway with Skaggerhill at her back. Steelfine had already assigned a squad of riflemen to the captain’s guard, but additional guns couldn’t hurt.
“Of course, miss,” Hilemore told her. “You’re very welcome.”
He went outside to check on the Endeavour, finding the Voter volunteers lining her rails, crews standing ready at her cannon, a half-dozen four-pounders and two rifled six-pound pivot-guns. It was poor armament for what they were about to face but ordering Zenida to remain on station would have been pointless. Hilemore climbed up to the bridgehouse roof, taking the signal lamp and flashing out a brief message: Will proceed at full speed. Follow as best you can.
Zenida appeared at the door of the Endeavour’s wheel-house, silhouetted in the light from within as she raised her own signal lamp to respond: Try losing me, sea-brother.
Hilemore allowed himself a brief smile before handing back the signal lamp and climbing down to the bridge. “Mr. Talmant!”
“Sir!”
“Signal the engine room. Three vials to the blood-burner.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Mr. Scrimshine . . .”
“I know the way, Skipper.” Hilemore saw Scrimshine’s hands shake a little before he took a tight grip on the tiller, eyes locked on the dark sea beyond the prow. “Dead west it is.”
* * *
• • •
They heard it before they saw it. The flat crump of cannon carried through the morning mist that hung on the horizon. The sea was calm and the Superior steamed westward with the needle of the speed indicator dial pushed well past its maximum. By sunrise the Endeavour had fallen at least a mile behind causing Hilemore to entertain the faint hope the whole affair might be over before she could join the battle.
“Five miles until landfall, sir,” Talmant reported, glancing up from the map table, ruler in hand.
Hilemore swallowed a curse at the lingering mist. At her current speed the Superior would run aground before she could slow enough for a turn, and they had yet to catch sight of a target. “Switch to auxiliary power,” he said, sending Talmant rushing to the speaking-tube. “Tell the Chief to let her drift for one minute before engaging the engine. Ahead one-third.”
“Aye, sir.”
Hilemore saw flashes in the mist as they drew closer, then the first dim outlines of ships. He made out the shape of a Corvantine sloop and an armed Varestian freighter, both steaming in parallel to the as yet unseen shore, guns firing in relays along their port sides. More and more ships resolved into view as they drew closer and the sound of cannon fire became thunderous. There were so many ships steaming back and forth Hilemore at first had difficulty in making out the shore, but then he saw the imposing silhouette of the Redoubt rising above a narrow beach.
“Receiving multiple hails, sir,” Talmant said as a plethora of flags ascended the masts of the nearest ships, accompanied by the flicker of numerous signal lamps.
“Send the response in plain,” Hilemore said. “Here to assist. Blood-blessed aboard.”
Hilemore scanned the ships for their response then found his attention captured by a whispered mutter from Scrimshine, spoken in a strained reverential tone he hadn’t used since their first encounter with Last Look Jack. “Honoured ancestors accept the soul of this miserable wretch.”
The helmsman was staring through the forward window, eyes wide and wet, hands shaking again. Hilemore followed his gaze, spying what he initially took for a large dark cloud to the right of the Redoubt. Scrimshine evidently had keener eyes, however, for the cloud soon expanded to fill the sky above the shore-line, Hilemore making out the winged shapes amongst the mass.
“That’s . . .” he heard Loriabeth say in a tone eerily similar to Scrimshine’s. “That’s a whole lotta Reds.”
Hilemore’s gaze snapped to the fore-deck, seeing Clay share a brief embrace with Kriz before moving to climb up onto Lutharon’s back. “Don’t!” Hilemore shouted, rushing outside, cupping his hands around his mouth as he leaned over the walkway. “There are too many!”
Clay turned to him as Lutharon clambered up onto the prow. Hilemore saw him offer a grin of farewell before he raised his hand, drinking down the three vials it held in a few gulps before tossing them away. Hilemore’s protestations died on his lips as the drake launched itself from the ship, mighty wings raising vapour from the sea and tail whipping as he climbed into the air.
CHAPTER 49
Lizanne
“Get them all up!” Lizanne shouted as she sprinted towards the Typhoon, the other aerostat crews all running across the Redoubt’s courtyard to where their craft waited. Tekela was already strapping herself into the pilot’s seat when Lizanne clambered inside. Morva and the three gunners followed in short order. The top gunner climbed the ladder to her station in the upper cupola as the others prepared their guns and Tekela tilted the engines toward the ground, simultaneously opening the throttles to take off.
Lizanne slotted one of her three remaining Redballs into the chamber of her Smoker, positioning herself at the rear port hatch, gaze fixed on the top of the Redoubt wall as the Typhoon rose, expecting the Reds to appear at any moment. Instead they ascended into an empty sky, the reason becoming obvious as the walls fell away beneath them. The Red swarm was streaming by a half-mile distant, keeping out of range of the repeating guns as they flew over the coast and banked towards the Varestian fleet in a dense crimson mass.
“They’re going for the ships!” she called to Tekela, moving to the blood-burner’s ignition tube. “Take us east. Maximum speed. Morva, trance with the Hurricane and the Whirlwind, tell them to form up alongside.”
She waited until she could see the two aerostats through the port and starboard windows then injected Red and put her eye to the ignition tube, lighting the thermoplasmic engine. She managed to catch hold of the central support beam before the instant acceleration sent her flying and hauled herself forward to stand at Tekela’s shoulder.
She could see the ships already firing at the oncoming Reds, the diminishing space between them lined with criss-crossing tracer and exploding cannon shells. White splashes pock-marked the sea beneath the swarm as drake after drake fell to the guns, but it was clear no amount of fire-power would stem their charge, there were just too many. Th
e ships closest to shore were blotted from view as the horde of Reds swept over them, Lizanne seeing others diving onto the neighbouring ships, talons opening to deposit Greens on their decks. Within seconds the entire fleet was obscured by the multitude of drakes, Lizanne catching sight of explosions blossoming beneath as ships began to fall victim to the assault.
“There,” Lizanne said, pointing to the densest part of the drake horde. “Take us straight through.”
“Swarmers?” Tekela asked, hand poised to trigger the firing mechanism for the rockets. There were four switches, one for each row of ten Swarmers fitted to the underside of the gondola.
“Not yet,” she said. “Let’s see if we can get some to follow us. We need to take the pressure off the fleet.”
A trio of Reds spotted the aerostats as they approached, peeling away from the flock to fly directly into their path. Tekela pulled the switch fitted to the top of the main control lever, triggering the forward guns and blasting the lead Red from the sky. The stream of bullets tore the wing of another, sending it spiralling down into the sea, but the third dodged aside, banking hard to assail them from the side only to be cut in two by a burst from the starboard gunner.
All guns aboard began firing as they tore into the central mass of the swarm, the hull resounding with the thud of colliding drakes and the windscreen becoming so spattered with blood Tekela had to engage the mechanical wipers. Lizanne rushed back to the rear port hatch, rapid firing her Smoker at the drakes flashing by the opening. Then they were through, the windows showing clear sky.
Lizanne turned to the rear window, letting out a relieved sigh at the sight of the Hurricane and Whirlwind following close behind. The Hurricane appeared undamaged but she could see smoke streaming from the Whirlwind’s port engine. Beyond them she was gratified to see a large number of Reds, wings blurring as they laboured in pursuit.
“Blood-burner off,” she told Tekela. “Turn us around and make ready to fire the Swarmers.”
The Typhoon slowed then tilted as Tekela killed their forward speed and reversed the propeller on the starboard engine, spinning them around. Lizanne saw the Hurricane and Whirlwind following suit, forming up on either side as Tekela put the Typhoon into a hover. Lizanne went forward, peering through the blood-streaked window at the fast-approaching pack of Reds. It was hard to judge the distance but she had little doubt they were now in range.
“Fire half only,” she told Tekela who lost no time in flicking two of the switches on the firing mechanism. There was no recoil from the rockets, the Typhoon rising a little due to the reduced weight as the Swarmers shot from underneath the gondola, smoke trails overlapping to describe a complex pattern in the sky. Seeing the danger, the formation of pursuing Reds began to break apart but were unable to avoid the unpredictable trajectory of the Swarmers. Multiple explosions ripped through the drakes, sending dozens plummeting down. The survivors veered left and right only to fly into the rockets launched by the Hurricane and the Whirlwind. Within seconds the sky to the front of the Typhoon was clear of drakes.
“Well,” Tekela said, “that worked.”
Lizanne lowered her gaze to the battle raging below. She counted five ships alight and apparently adrift whilst battles seemed to be raging on several more as the crews fought the Greens that had been dropped onto their decks. However, most vessels appeared undamaged and were maintaining a blizzard of Growler and Thumper fire at the Reds, the waters around them dotted with numerous dead or dying drakes. Satisfying as this was, Lizanne also took note of the fact that whilst the battle raged, no ship was firing its main guns towards the shore.
“Take us up,” she ordered.
Tekela angled the engines to ninety degrees, putting the Typhoon into a rapid ascent, Lizanne watching in dismay as the Redoubt came fully into view. Cannon were firing all along the fortified ridge, shells trailing smoke as they slammed into the mass of Greens and Spoiled assaulting the second trench line. The attacking army resembled a dark tide on a stormy two-moon night as it washed against a harbour wall, the waves inching closer to overwhelming the barrier with every passing heave.
“Re-engage the blood-burner,” she told Tekela. “Head for the Redoubt.”
She turned, intending to tell Morva to trance with the Blood-blessed in the other aerostats, but finding her distracted, frowning as she squinted at something to the east.
“He’s a big bastard,” she said, hefting her mini-Growler. “Think I might be able to get him from here.”
Lizanne went to her side, tracking the direction of the Growler’s multiple barrels to see a very large drake flying towards the fleet. In the haze beyond she could make out the outline of a ship. It was an unusual design, her hull lacking paddles and leaving a broad wake as she headed towards the shore.
“Don’t!” she said, pushing Morva’s mini-Growler aside and sending the stream of tracer arcing into the sea. She could see him now, a figure perched on the drake’s back, a drake with black scales instead of red.
“Tekela!” she called out. “Change of course!”
CHAPTER 50
Clay
No way around, over or under, Clay mused as he looked upon a sky filled with Reds. As Lutharon flew closer to the embattled fleet the surrounding air whined with wayward bullets and shrapnel from exploding cannon shells. The drakes seemed entirely preoccupied with the ships, but he doubted that would last once they caught sight of a Black. Looks like we’ll just have to fight our way through, big fella.
Lutharon let out a low, rumbling growl in response, broadening his wings to send them higher into the air. As expected, Clay saw a half dozen Reds separate from the main flock and fly towards them, their challenge cries audible even above the cacophony of gun-fire below. Lutharon replied with a roar, deep and hungry, angling his body to take them straight towards the nearest Red. Clay focused his gaze on the Red’s left wing, waiting until it closed to within twenty yards then letting loose with a concentrated burst of Black. The drake’s wing-bone snapped at the upper joint, sending the beast into an untidy forward plummet that abruptly ended when Lutharon reared back and lanced out with his talons, piercing the Red’s chest with a swift, tearing slash before casting it away.
Lutharon folded his wings and corkscrewed, Clay feeling a blast of heat from the other Reds before the Black levelled out. Craning his neck, Clay saw the Reds wheeling and coming about, wings sweeping in frenzied arcs as they scrambled to pursue. He could sense Lutharon’s instinctive need to turn and meet the threat but urged him to ignore it and increase his forward speed. Got more important things to do today.
The Reds, however, proved capable of matching Lutharon’s speed. Being lighter, they were able to close half the intervening distance in short order. Clay reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder and withdrew one of Chief Bozware’s grenades. He jerked the pin loose and twisted about, using his Green-enhanced sight to aim a burst of Black towards the head of the leading Red, the invisible force wave carrying the grenade along with it. The drake tried to dodge the missile but it was too swift, catching it on the shoulder and tearing much of its upper body apart in an ugly explosion of black smoke and crimson gore. The surviving Reds let out a screech of rage as the corpse fell away, sweeping upwards then diving down, moving too fast and coming too close for the grenades. Their mouths gaped as they dived, ready to belch out their flames, then the two in the lead blew apart as a line of cannon shells streamed down from above.
A shadow fell over the remaining Reds as they broke formation, proving too slow to avoid the hail of bullets and cannon shells that soon sent them plunging in pieces towards the waves. Clay looked up as the aerostats passed overhead, engines roaring. There were three of them, their size and speed more impressive in reality than the images he had seen in the trance. They descended to take up position directly to Lutharon’s front, Clay spotting a slim figure leaning out of the rear hatch of the craft in the centre. She wore go
ggles and, although it seemed like a great deal of time had passed since he had last seen her in the flesh, he recognised her instantly.
Lizanne began to lift her hand in a wave then abruptly pivoted, bringing a carbine to her shoulder as a Red came screaming in from the side. Whatever manner of bullet she had loaded into the carbine was clearly something special, leaving a trail of flame in its wake as it impacted on the Red’s torso. There was a blinding flash and the Red had mostly disappeared, save for a few chunks of flesh tumbling in the aerostat’s slip-stream.
The sky suddenly grew dark and Clay realised they were now surrounded by Reds. A glance at the sea below Lutharon’s wings revealed that the ships were no longer under attack. Looks like we been recognised, he thought.
The guns of the three aerostats all began firing at once, sending streams of tracer in all directions. Clay held Lutharon on a steady course as he continually scanned the sky for threats, sending one Red tumbling away with a blast of Black and searing the eyes of another with a fulsome torrent of Red. The loud, bone-jarring thump of a blast wave snapped his gaze back to the aerostats, finding the one on the right had lost an engine. Clay could see the blackened corpse of a Red falling away in a cloud of shattered, smoking mechanicals. The aerostat began to spin out of control, losing height and drawing away from the others. Sensing a kill, the Reds mobbed the stricken craft, uncaring of any danger as they streaked in from all sides to slam themselves into the envelope, many falling victim to the craft’s guns, which continued to fire without pause. More and more drakes flung themselves onto the aerostat, tearing at it with claw and tooth, others belching fire at the gondola until it was a mass of flame. The aerostat’s descent accelerated, its nose tipping forward as it went into a dive and exploded before hitting the sea.